God and Death Are None of My Concern
by planetofmars
Summary: Laughter; shrieking, sudden laughter.


**Title: **God and Death are None of My Concern.  
><strong>Rating: <strong>Mature.  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>Morgan/Reid  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Laughter; shrieking, sudden laughter. 

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Criminal Minds, nor these character's. I merely play with them.

Hysterical laughter ensues as Derek shrinks back. The agent knew he should have never come, that he should have stayed away, but he hadn't. And now he was to pay.

Blood. There was so much blood. Too much blood. Everywhere. The smell of bleach invaded all of his senses, making him dizzy, making him sick to his stomach.

Spencer's eyes were wide—wild. Derek had startled the other man by making an abrupt entrance, but he hadn't turned away from Derek—didn't even try to justify his actions. He just laughed.

A laugh Derek had never heard released from within the other man before—a laugh he had never heard from anyone before, ever. Laughter; shrieking, sudden laughter.

Derek doesn't realize that his back is against the wall until he hits it. Derek's stunned, tears well in his eyes as his brain tries to digest what his eyes behold.

A man. A dead man lays on Spencer's bathroom floor. A dead man lays on Spencer's bathroom floor, slaughtered and mutilated. No doubt postmortem, if their profile was anything to go by. Their profile...their profile of one of the most prolific serial murders to ever hit the east coast.

Spencer was that serial killer.

Derek can't move, not even as Spencer approaches him—zones in on on him. As irrational as it may sound, Derek isn't fearful of him—even with a scalpel in his hand, and blood stained permanently into his clothes.

Clothes Derek had bought him for their second year anniversary, right before they had broken up. That was over a year ago, and it hits Derek violently; the realization that hewas more than likely Spencer's stresser—but Derek did not want to profile his former lover.

He couldn't.

Derek's whole body begins to quiver and shake, and welled up tears sting his eyes as the overwhelming reality of the situation hits him. Spencer has stopped his absurd laughter in exchange for starring at the man in front of him with much wonder. A small smirk edging at the corner of his mouth.

Derek shakes his head, adamantly. This can't be happening—it just can't.

Spencer's blood stained hand rises to Derek's face, nimble thumb stroking his cheek almost lovingly. The touch was all too familiar, but would never, in a lifetime, be the same. Derek sucks in a harsh breath as Spencer leans in, placing a soft kiss to Derek's mouth. Derek cringes, disgusted by how much he's missed those lips on his own.

Spencer deepens the kiss, absentmindedly setting the scalpel aside. Derek takes the opportunity to grab the other man by his right arm, jerking the slender limb upward until he lets out a small, pain filled, gasp.

"Why? Why...," Derek whispers, shaking his head in disbelief as Spencer lets out a whimper of disapproval. Derek kisses him harshly, tightening his hold on him out of hurt—out of anger.

This is wrong. This goes against everything Derek has ever been taught; everything he has ever believed in, but he can't stop himself. Derek supposes that somewhere, in the back of his mind, he's still praying that this is all just some god awful nightmare.

Derek knows that it's not. He knows that as much as he doesn't want it to be, it is. Derek has to decide what it is he will do. Fifteen men. Sixteen now. Derek can't forget the body that lays less than two feet away from him.

"Why?" he screams into his face, his throat raw—sore. Derek felt as though he was being ripped apart from the inside out. Burning.

"Why not?" he returns, and Derek pushes him away—stunned. Spencer's shoulders shrug, then drop. Derek's mouth falling open in disbelief.

A similar conversation had taken place shortly after their sudden breakup. Derek had been packing his things into boxes, his heart in pieces. The choice had not been an easy one. Spencer had walked into their once shared bedroom, arms wrapped tightly around himself.

"Why?" he had asked, soft and sad like. Derek hadn't even looked back at the other man. He hadn't even cared as he said:

"Why not?"

"Spencer!" Derek cries, reaching out for him. Derek can't help but to feel responsible. He felt responsible for all of this—for all of those lives...for their lives.

Derek had to accept that after this day ended, after the sun set, that nothing would ever be the same. Absolutely nothing would be the same.

Derek holds him close, sobbing. He can feel Spencer's hands smoothing up and down his back like he use to after a hard case. Spencer places a kiss to Derek's cheek, pulling away.

Spencer's eyes have returned to their normal, curious state. The remorse Derek sees in them is heart wrenching to watch, but Spencer remains calm.

"In all fairness, this isn't your fault," he claims, quietly. The soft sadness of his body language, Derek recognizes immediately.

"I stopped taking my medicine," he adds, and Derek finds himself confused. Medicine? Derek stares into his eyes, and it suddenly all makes sense—everything makes sense.

"Spence, please. No, don't...don't tell me that," he pleads.

The last three months or so of their relationship had been unbearable for Derek. Spencer's change in mood, his resignation for anyone's feelings...it all made sense.  
>Schizophrenia.<p>

And what had he done? Derek had walked away from what they were. He had dropped Spencer when the other man had needed him the most in life. Derek had done to him what Spencer's father had done to his mother. Derek had abandoned him, just like everyone else seemed to in his life.

"I'm so sorry," he says, touched with emotion. Derek's tone is hushed, afraid he might raise the dead if he spoke any louder, and suddenly, he feels sick to his stomach. Derek knew that, no matter what, he would always love Spencer—as depraved as that sounded, even to his own ears.

"I'm so sorry, Spencer," he repeats, giving Spencer's hand a tight squeeze. Afraid that if he let go, Spencer would somehow disappear from him.

"Never again," he demands, stern in manner. Spencer looks at him, really looks at him and begins to cry silently in understanding. Nonetheless, Spencer nods his head in agreement.

That night, they disposed of the body. The smell of death would be with him till the day someone, somewhere took mercy on him, and he died.

Derek knew what he was doing. He knew what this all meant. Derek was throwing everything away. He was becoming a criminal. He was becoming everything he vowed he would never be. Derek was turning away from everyone he had ever loved, and who had loved him. Derek was running away with him. Derek was protecting him. Derek was going to be there for Spencer like he should have been.

They disposed of everything that could be traced back to them. With two grand in his pocket, Spencer in the passenger seat of a stolen van, and Clooney in the back seat, they were off. To where, they didn't know. They weren't even sure if they would make it, and if they did, they weren't sure how long it would last before they were found. 

Derek awoke to Spencer's warm body next to his. The smell of the ocean wrapped itself through the small house. Warm sun pelting against his back as he faced away from the window, and in the distance, he could hear Clooney barking at the waves.

Belize, it's what they called home now.

The medicines Spencer needed were easy to come by. The village they had stumbled upon was small and secluded, and the locals had welcomed them warmly. The tale of two retired business men from America had woe them.

Derek's fingers dance upon Spencer's neck, following a path down his thin shoulders, his spine. Derek's hand splays itself against the sharp structure of Spencer's hip when the other man wakes, still sleepy. Derek presses a kiss to his nape, and smiles when he feels Spencer shift closer to him.

Spencer offers to make them both breakfast, and Derek can't refuse. After a few chaste kisses, and loving strokes, they part. A promise of more to come lingering in the air. Derek leaves Spencer in the kitchen, heading outside, instead. There, Clooney greets his master happily. Derek picks up a branch fallen from one of the many trees that surround their front yard, tossing it for the mutt to catch.

A breeze picks up as the waves crash down harder, and in them, Derek swears he smells the faint, distinct smell of death. That smell would be with him no matter where he went, he supposed. Derek's head falls slightly, upon hearing Spencer's content singing, and Clooney's wagging tail, he feels the weight lighten a bit.

This was his choice. He had made it. And he would live with it.


End file.
